


A Charitable Affair

by Into_Dorkness



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 03:16:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2372519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Into_Dorkness/pseuds/Into_Dorkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toris just wants everybody to see the good in each other rather than constantly fighting during every World Meeting. With the help of his cross-dressing best friend Feliks and his fellow Baltic Eduard, he sets out to document the charitable deeds each nation is secretly committed to, and hopfully convince everyone to respect each other... hopefully.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was based off of a headcannon I saw on Tumblr by cryingovergaycountries (that name though). Ah, internet - my bountiful source of inspiration. Enjoy m'lovelies!

Although it was exhausting being a nation, there’s one thing that the countries of the world never got tired of – helping those less fortunate than themselves. What each nation did in the name of charity was rarely spoken about, as it was a pretty sensitive matter. However, rumours of selfless acts and heart-warming deeds had begun to circulate within the net of countries.

Lithuania thought about these facts as he sat in his usual place - between Poland and Estonia - at yet another World Meeting. Germany had been leading a talk on foreign exchange rates when an argument had erupted between America and England (as per usual), and right now the whole meeting was in chaos. All it took was one spark to fly between them and the nations of the world would turn to verbally abusing each other; physically abusing each other; trying to sleep with each other or all of the above.

“Everyone’s always so, like, negative around here,” Feliks shouted to Toris as the commotion raged around them.

“Y-yeah, I kind of wish everybody would try to be focusing on the good side of each other rather than the bad” Toris replied with a nervous laugh. “If there was a way I could be showing them all that they are actually good people, then maybe these meetings wouldn’t end up so…” he trailed off as a chair was thrown past them, landing with a crash.

The fellow Baltic nation beside Toris now perked up - “Maybe you could try making a documentary about the charity work everybody does?” Eduard suggested as he cleaned is glasses. “I have lots of cool new camera equipment that I use to take pictures for my blog – you could lend it if you wanted to.”

Toris wasn’t sure he wanted to go around secretly filming all of these big and powerful countries, especially when they were doing such private activities. “I really don’t know anything about filming and editing, and what if I am getting caught by these guys?” his voice was hushed now, conscious that said countries might overhear their conversation.

“Liet, you like, totally won’t get caught – I have tons of totally cute outfits you can disguise yourself with, and Eduard is wicked with all that IT stuff,” Feliks said excitedly. Eduard was now grinning too. _‘Great,’_ Toris thought, _‘There’s no way I am getting out of this now’._ He sighed and turned to his fellow Baltic.

“Ok.”

3 Days Later

“I am still not understanding why I am disguised as a girl,” Toris whined as Feliks attached false lashes onto Lithuania’s eyelids. He was slumped on a dressing table chair in a small but charming hotel room in Nice, France. Toris had argued why they had to start all the way over at Francis’ place to begin their secret film project, but Eduard insisted that Francis wasn’t a particularly brutish nation; if Lithuania was caught, they doubted Francis would punish him too harshly (although Toris suspected he would have to pay him back with some kind of sexual favour). Eduard had then gone on to use his IT skills (he claims that he hacked in France’s computer systems, but Toris knows that he just has a lot of contacts on Facebook that inform him of any juicy gossip he can put on his blog) to secure the location of an orphanage in the French countryside.

“You’re all dressed up like this,” Feliks mumbled as he held two hair pins between his teeth (something he had turned into an art form) “So that the cheese-eater thinks you’re a totally pretty reporter for _Le Bon Citoyen_.”

“What does that even mean? And won’t he be noticing my accent?” Toris whimpered as the little confidence he possessed waned.

“It means ‘The Good Citizen’, silly Liet. And like, don’t worry about the accent thing, I’LL totally teach you how to sound more French,” the Pole reassured him with a wink.

“Since when have YOU been speaking the French?!” the Baltic nation was trembling at the idea of his fate being held in the manicured hands of his hipster-schoolgirl best friend.

“Like, where do you think all of these clothes come from, hun? I practically LIVE on the fashion runways of Paris,” Feliks replied dismissively.

Toris sighed as his friend slipped the clips from his teeth and into his own brown hair.

“Gerai.”*

Later That Day

The older Baltic nation arrived at the gate of the orphanage wearing a green pleated miniskirt, a red sweater and brown loafers, all courtesy of Feliks’ ‘Carven* collection’. In his hand was a camcorder – Eduard had insisted that he made use of all of his state-of-the-art filming equipment, but Toris argued that Francis might get anxious if he was surrounded by cameras. They finally agreed that they had to be as soft as possible in their approach, and Toris had to appear as inconspicuous as possible.

_“My name is Màrie Bardot,”_ * Toris reminded himself as he mentally revised the French accent Feliks’ had taught him just hours before. _“Je, tu, vous, je tu, vous, je tu-”_

“Can I help you, Madame?” enquired a familiar French voice from behind Toris. The Lithuanian hadn’t realised that he had been eyeing up the gates of the orphanage for some time now as he psyched himself up to enter. Toris slowly turned his head to face his target, mentally screaming at Eduard and Feliks for putting him in this situation.

* * *

_“Sacré bleu, she is très beau!”_ Francis thought as the face of the girl in front him now came into his line of sight; long, full eyelashes; adorable red sweater that hung loosely from her small frame; short brown hair that framed her delicate features perfectly… she was attrayant indeed. He was wearing a simple white shirt with his tie tied loosely around his neck, and he now regretted not wearing something flashier.

“I-I umm... my name is Màrie,” she whimpered, hands shaking around the Canon camcorder that she held. He grasped in his own hand a large canvas bag, the content of which was secret. He noticed that her accent was a little strange (Russian maybe?) but didn’t question it; people came from all over the place nowadays after all. After a few moments of silence, it was evident the girl wasn’t confident enough to elaborate about her identity.

“Bonjour Màrie, my name is Francis,” he finally said with a bow, taking the girl’s hand and kissing it lightly. He could have sworn she shivered slightly – the desired effect. She blushed and quickly looked away from him before finally responding.

“I—I‘m here to report for _Le Bon Citoyen_ in regards to the inhabitants of this establishment!” the girl spluttered breathlessly, taking Francis aback by her sudden abrasiveness.

“Oh, this old place? I was just heading in there myse-” he started, catching himself as if he’d let something slip that he shouldn’t have. Toris knew exactly what that something was. Francis’ hand went to the back of his neck as he continued, confidence visibly rattled. “Err, as I was saying, I can take you inside if you’d like?” he said, voice slightly higher in pitch than before.

“Oui, if you wouldn’t mind” Toris accepted with a curtsy, now feeling a lot calmer. All he had to do now was get something good on tape and this cross-dressing-French-nightmare would be over. They walked side-by-side towards the high metal gate that encased the orphanage, and as Toris got closer he gazed through the gaps between each railing at the building inside – dilapidated. The initial shock struck him and he froze just as Francis buzzed the intercom to request entrance. The large, grey brickwork was crumbling and stained with moss, with chunks of wall hanging off by a thread; two small windows either side of the entrance were cracked, with yellowing lace curtains hanging limply on the other side. Beside a window there was a sign – _Agnès Augustin Orphelinat de fille_ ; an orphanage exclusively for girls. The front door of the building itself was made of thin wood and cracks had formed around the rusted keyhole. The lawn between the gate and the building was overgrown up to the waist with weeds. Toris had seen poverty before, he’d seen it in his own country, in his friend’s countries, but seeing a man like Francis – well-dressed, well-manicured Francis - in immediate proximity to a place like this was difficult for Toris to comprehend. He sure was going to learn a lot about his fellow nations on this little crusade of his.

The crackling of the intercom brought Toris back to reality as they stepped through the gate and up to the shabby front door, through the forest of weeds. When they reached the entrance, Francis fished out a key that had matching rust to the lock of the door. Before he could fit it in the lock however, the door creaked open and a tiny voice floated out.

“Oncle Francis?”

At this the door swung wide as a stream of children - none taller than Toris’ waist – blundered out onto porch, each one chiming “Francis!” “Oncle Francis!” “Big brother Francis is here~”. Toris stepped back to allow the children full access to the French nation and observed – there were now at least 25 little girls clamouring around, hugging and laughing and throwing their tiny fists in the air with joy. Francis himself had a huge smile on his face, azure eyes wrinkled with joy as he wrapped his arms around as many kids as possible in a collective hug. Toris took a closer look at each individual child: they were all wearing similar moth-bitten frocks and most only wore socks on their tiny feet. Their hair was untamed and their faces grubby, but each girl wore a brilliant smile on their dirty faces as they looked up in admiration at Francis. Toris was about to tear up just as Francis spoke –

“Ah, mes petits chéris, what have you all been getting up to? You are a mess mon amour!” he said as he knelt down to cup the face of one of the girls with his hands.

“Living and loving! Just like you told us Oncle Francis!” the girl beamed from between his palms, prompting the rest of the children to chime “All you need is love!” and “Love is life!”

“You have been enjoying yourself then, eh? Come, let us go inside” the girls cheered at Francis’ request as he ushered them back into the rundown building. He herded them from behind and fell back beside Toris when they had all gone inside.

“That was…” Toris couldn’t even form coherent thoughts at this point. During the huddling he had quickly turned on his camcorder and filmed the entire thing. Only now did he click the ‘off’ button.

Francis rubbed his neck and chuckled shyly (shy? Francis? SHY?). “Ah, oui, they can be… a handful.”

_“More like two arms full”_ Toris thought to himself. He looked up at the Frenchman incredulously, who in return gave him a sheepish grin.

“Let’s go in, shall we?” beckoned Francis.

“You don’t mind if I film in here do you? Only it’s simpler than writing everything I see,” Toris asked as they made their way down the corridor of the ramshackle children’s home.

“Ah-ok,” Francis replied hesitantly “As long as you promise to pixelate this for me,” he said, gesturing to his own head.

_“It is so very unlike Francis to deliberately hide his face_ ,” Toris pondered inwardly. _“He is so often saying things like ‘Le world has been blessed with the majestic beauty that is Francis Bonnefoy’”._ This only spiked Toris’ curiosity more as he was led beyond the door and into the hallway of the orphanage.

“That is not a problem.” Toris lied. “May I also ask – are there no staff working here? I haven’t seen any around, and the children appeared as if they have not been bathed.”

“There are usually trois employees ‘ere, but today is their day off. The girls do not usually look so dishevelled, but I guess they have been playing stick-in-the-mud, or something like this. When the employees are not here, I…” he cast his eyes downwards, embarrassed about the regularity of his visits.

“How often are their days off then?” Toris urged. He was fascinated by the French nation’s (previously unknown) compassion towards these children.

They reached a pair of double doors at the end of the hall, and before Francis could answer the question he threw them open with a flourish.

“Let the party commencer!”

The doors opened to a small, round room that was thinly carpeted. There was a small fireplace at the far end with a pair of bellows resting beside it. A window stood over the fireplace, framing the brilliant blue sky above. The girls were scattered around the room, each grasping a thin pillow between their tiny arms. Toris softly pushed the ‘on’ button of his camcorder. They were now smiling up at Francis expectantly as he held out the large canvas bag he had been carrying. The French nation knelt down and gently rummaged around in it, until he slowly pulled out three bottles of nail varnish – _“what on Earth…?”_ Toris thought – and held them high over his head.

“Activité un: manicures!” Francis announced, beaming at the children. They erupted into a roar of cheering as they ran towards their beloved carer, hugging and kissing and scrambling all over him with gratitude. One particularly small girl – Toris reckoned she was no older than five – was now perched on the French nation’s shoulders, tiny hands knotted into his silky blonde hair. Francis sat down where he was (it was impossible to move through the gaggle of children) as the girl in front of him sat herself on his lap.

“Ah Émilie, it looks like you have the honour of going first,” Francis chimed, “Which colour would you préférer?” He held up the three bottles – rose red, cerise pink and sky blue. Émilie’s eyes widened and she immediately pointed at a bottle:

“Bleu! Bleu!” she exclaimed as she bounced on the nations lap excitedly.

And so Toris stood at the back of the room, quietly documenting an hour of this; Francis called each girl up individually to sit on his knee – 26 in total, Toris had counted – to get their nails glossed. The Lithuanian was holding the camcorder to his face, recording the ecstatic squeals of the orphans. Francis’ face relaxed into a tender smile, cobalt eyes sparkling with content. He carefully dotted their nails with colour, asking each girl how they were doing and what had happened to them since the last time he had visited. The last child now leapt from his lap, examining her shiny new fingernails as the rest of the girls sat around Francis, giggling and comparing colours. The French nation then brought the bag to his lap and took out five paddle hair brushes, one at a time. He gave four of the brushes to the girls closest to him and ordered them to form a chain of six people: one girl sat between the nation’s legs, another girl sat between her legs and so on. Francis softly drew the brush through the girl’s untamed mane, murmuring “You must take better care of yourself, ma chérie.” over her shoulder. She did the same to the girl in front and so on. When the hair of these five children was tamed, another five took their place. They repeated this process until every single girl had beautiful, knot-free locks.

“Now it is Oncle Francis’ turn!” one of the girls trilled, and all of them piled around him as Francis chuckled loudly. Three girls had loosened his hair from its ponytail and were running hairbrushes through his ashy waves. Another three girls were carefully painting his short nails with all three of the shades he had brought. They lacked Francis’ finesse however, so he ended up with a scraggly mess of red, pink and blue on his fingertips. The French nation happily blew the varnish dry though, ignoring the mess they’d made of his perfectly manicured fingernails.

From the fireplace window, Toris could see the Sun had begun to set as low orange rays streamed through the glass. The girls had now finished with Francis makeover: he now had a multi-coloured manicure; his tie had been turned into a neckerchief and his hair ribbon was now a bow atop his head. The children were quieter now, their energy spent mercilessly over the past three hours.

“It looks like it is nearly time to sleep, mes beauties,” Francis stated. He was met with grumbles from the girls, who wanted to stay awake as long as possible to spend more time with their favourite guardian. Francis shuffled on his hands and knees towards the fireplace, pulling a matchbox from his pocket as he went; it was easier to move around now that the girls were dozing off, so he reached it in no time. He arranged the sticks and coals within the open hearth before lighting a match and tossing it in. The flame slowly grew, enveloping the whole room with a warm, flickering glow. The girls started sleepily toddling towards Francis, who was using the bellows to feed oxygen to the fire. They set their pillows down and curled up amongst him as he sat back and encircled the smallest girls in his arms. Francis was stroking their hair and whispering to them softly in French - Toris couldn’t understand what he was saying but guessed he was reassuring them into sleep. The Frenchman’s murmuring became quieter and quieter and when Toris gazed around the entirety of the room he could see that every single girl was now sleeping peacefully. Francis himself was still holding two dozing girls – Toris recognised Émilie’s face buried in his chest – in his arms, his own head resting on Émilie’s. Toris cleared his throat quietly and the French nation looked up with sleepy sapphire eyes. The Lithuanian turned the camcorder off.

“It has been a long day, oui?” Francis said softly as he gently lowered Émilie and the other child onto a pillow. He stood up smoothly and gracefully tiptoed between the tiny sleeping bodies until he reached Toris. “Would you like a ride home Madame?”

Toris simply nodded.

* * *

Francis phoned an escort to come pick him and the Lithuanian up. Toris fretted about leaving the girls alone, but Francis reassured him that the employees would return before it got dark. When their lift arrived, Toris explained that he had been staying in a hotel (texting a warning to Feliks that he should hide until the Frenchman was gone) and tried pushing Francis to answer his questions, but the French nation claimed that he was simply too exhausted to talk right now. The drive back was silent afterwards, as Francis worked to extract the ribbon from his hair and redo his tie. Toris kept an eye on him the whole time, seeing a small smile play on the Frenchman’s lips as he examined his tricolour manicure. They finally arrived at Toris’ hotel and he thanked the driver before stepping out. Francis followed.

“I hope the footage you got was helpful,” said Francis as he threaded out of the car.

“Ye-Oui,, it was… enlightening,” stammered Toris nervously. He was overwhelmed by the events he had witnessed over the last four hours and just wanted to get inside and sleep it off.

“Remember, and it pains me to say this, but I don’t want anyone seeing this gorgeous face,” the Frenchman insisted.

“Why not?” Toris blurted, and before he knew it he couldn’t stop the words pouring from his mouth. “There is no shame in what you are doing for these children, and you deserve some kind of recognition for tha-“

Francis held up his hand to halt the disguised Baltic nation. “Non.”

The Frenchman did not elaborate and the two just stared at each other in silence for a few moments. With a sigh, Francis continued – “I do not deserve recognition. I do not deserve praise and I do not want it – what I do for ces filles is to make up for all of the women I have wronged. The life I lead…” - Toris knew that he was referring to his immortal life as a nation - “…the life I lead forbids me to sustain relationships as a normal person would. I have left a lot of heartbroken people in this world in order to protect my identity, and this is just one step towards my redemption.”

Toris never imagined Francis actually felt guilty about his sexual liaisons. He and every nation understood that getting a mortal girlfriend/boyfriend would only lead to heartbreak. Your partner would grow old and you would stay young, so unless you entered a relationship with another nation, you had to settle for casual sex with mortals (or just abstain from having sex with anyone, but who had the balls to do that?). It’s a well-known fact that Francis Bonnefoy is rife with sexual desire - he’s _the_ country of love, after all - so what other choice did he have than to quench his desire and then disappear?

“I… I understand,” the little Lithuanian nodded. “I better be going now…” he turned towards the hotel just as he felt Francis’ hand clasp his own.

“Bonne nuit, Màrie. Hopefully we will meet again when I am a better man,” the Frenchman said sadly as he bowed and pecked Toris’ hand with his lips.

“You are a good man, Francis Bonnefoy,” Toris said softly, turning and walking towards the door to the hotel lobby. Just as Toris had was turning his key into the lock, Francis called after him –

“Attendez, how did you know my surna-“ Toris slammed the door quickly behind him, cutting off the Frenchman’s question.

“Phew… that was the close one,” Toris panted from inside the hotel foyer, speaking with his normal Lithuanian accent now that he was alone.

“One down, a whole lot more to go…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse my horrible French ;-;
> 
> *Gerai - 'OK' in Lithuanian
> 
> *Carven - a French clothing brand. I doubt they actually produce anything I described here though
> 
> *Marie Bardot - Marie is a name shared with many famous French women (Marie Curie, Marie Antoinette, etc.). Brigitte Bardot is a French actress and sex symbol (Oh Toris, if only you knew...)
> 
> So my headcannon is that the nations have enough money themselves to live comfortably, but not so much that they can just throw thousands of pounds/dollars/euros/WHATEVER at every unfortunate person that they come across. Of course they can help a little, that's what this whole fic is about, but the nations cannot just wipe out poverty on command (there will always be poverty somewhere in the world anyway).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Toris reluctantly continues his top secret charity documentary, this time arriving in England to spy on a certain former pirate...

Toris had slept for days after his playdate with Francis. The footage had been sent over to Eduard for editing and the Lithuanian had forbidden Feliks to view it because it would 'ruin the surprise'. He was snoozing in his little hotel room when the Pole came skipping through the front door ('when did he get a key…?' Toris wondered sleepily).

"Wake up sleepy-Leit! Eduard has found another mission for yeeeew!" he sang, sitting down on the bed and flicking Toris' slumbering form repeatedly on the forehead.

"Stop it with the flicking! I am not going on another mission dressed as little girl!" the Baltic snapped, turning away from his friend.

"Ooh but Leeeeeit, you totally don't have to dress up as girl this time – which I am very disappointed about btw," he pouted, "And if you don't, like, do it, I have photos of you in that delightful mini skirt that would look totally fabulous posted all over the Twitters..." Toris turned back to face him, horrified.

"What kind of friend ARE YOU?" he shrieked, jumping out of the bed.

"I knew that would wake you up!" Feliks giggled.

"OK," Toris sighed, "Who is it I am doing the spying on this time?"

The Polish nation gave a flourish of his feminine hand and pulled out a picture of Arthur Kirkland.

"Šūdas."*

\--------------------

The comrades took the Eurostar from Calais to Kent and then boarded a separate train into London. The hotel they were staying in was right around the corner from their target location – a children's hospital.

"I don't think I am liking this idea of infiltrating a children's hospital..." Toris told Feliks as they unpacked their bags in the hotel room. "It just seems wrong to me"

"Chillax, babe! This is all totally going towards a greater good after all, is it not?"

Toris sagged. "I suppose you're right… but you still haven't told me exactly how I am to be entering the hospital unnoticed though."

At this, Feliks pulled from his boutique suitcase a white doctor's uniform, complete with a stethoscope and blonde wig. The Pole eyed Toris thoughtfully.

"When did you even get that?" the Lithuanian squawked.

The Pole winked.

\--------------------

Toris had successfully permeated the hospital disguised as Dr Peti Pauza; he felt no need to pretend to be English, as Britain's free healthcare and lax immigration enforcement made the country a thriving multicultural community. One little Lithuanian would not cause suspicion.

Said Lithuanian was now making his way to the 3rd floor of the hospital: he had asked the woman at the front desk that he needed to speak with the entertainer that was on duty today, and this is where she had directed him. He was now in a blindingly white corridor with regular double doors running along each side. It was quiet save for the squeaking of trolleys and the whirring of life-support machines. He had swapped out his camcorder for a state-of-the-art hidden camera that Eduard had sent him by post.

Toris wasn't sure he could do this. Rule one of being a nation was as follows: never get attached to mortals. Toris was a naturally caring young man, forming strong friendships quickly. To stop himself from getting emotionally invested in his people, he distanced himself as much as possible from them. Now he was in a bloody children's hospital; this alone threatened a sob from the young nation and he quickly ducked into a supply closet. Toris rapidly dabbed his teary eyes with the white sleeves of his uniform, took a deep breath and stepped ou- "Ow!"

"O-oh, I am so s-sorry, please forgive me!"

The nurse Toris had head-butted as he exited the closet was rubbing her forehead.

"That's ok, Dr…"

"Pauza..."

"It's ok Dr Pauza, it was just an accident after all" she reassured him with a strong London accent. "Do you need any help, Doctor? "

"Umm, a-actually I'm looking for the entertainer." Toris stuttered, casting his eyes to the floor to hide his blush-of-shame.

"Well, he's not in the closet," she said with a chuckle, "He should be here soon. I'll take you to the ward he'll be working in today."

"T-thank you, nurse…?"

"Eveline," she grinned.

"Thank you, Nurse Eveline." Toris replied with his own sheepish smile.

\--------------------

They stepped into the ward that Nurse Eveline had described. There were six hospital beds in the room – three on either side – but only five of them were inhabited by a child. Eveline caught Toris looking at the empty bed in the corner and he looked back at her expectantly. She merely shook her head. The Baltic was about to tear up again when the nurse wandered away towards one of the children, inspecting the charts hanging over the end of the bed. Toris forced some composure onto himself; 'You can do this', he thought. He was about to ask which condition the children were suffering from, but realised it would blow his cover if he sounded like he didn't know what he was doing. Instead he stepped towards the bed of another patient – a young boy of about eight years old – and flipped through the charts. Two words suddenly caught his sight: 'brain tumour'. Toris' eyes flicked towards the boy, who had a sleepy expression on his freckled face.

"How are we doing today…" Toris turned through the papers, "…Edward?"

"I'm good, mister." Edward piped, giving Toris a weak smile.

"That is good. Do you know we are having a special guest come to see you today?" the Lithuanian tried to sound as cheerful as possible, but his heart felt like lead.

"Really?" the boy's eyes sparkled, "Is it Professor Arthulus?"

Toris turned to Nurse Eveline to get some context because he had no idea what to say to little Edward. She stepped up and murmured in his ear:

"The entertainer switches characters to keep the kids interested – last time he was a wizard." she said matter-of-factly. 

'Yeah, that definitely sounds like Arthur.' Toris thought. Just as the Lithuanian was about to answer the boy's question, a thin man burst through the double doors of the ward, clad in the most extravagant pirate outfit in existence.

"Y'arrr! Is somebody requestin' the presence of Captain Kirkland?"

'Holy shit,'

Arthur donned his full 1700's maritime attire: a red coat trimmed with gold (Toris knew it was real gold - Arthur didn't skimp on those details during his pillaging days); knee high leather boots with billowing cotton pants; a ruffled shirt with an emerald gem nested in the centre and to top it all off, a tricorne hat with huge ostrich plumes affixed to one side. A cutlass (This was fake - Toris reckoned for health and safety reasons – but it was still a beautiful replica) hung from his hip and his fingers were crammed with rings and jewels. He even had a bloody eye-patch on, and wait, was that a little bit of eyeliner…? Toris suspected that Arthur enjoyed dressing up like his old self a little too much.

The man who was once the all-powerful Great British Empire now leapt from bed-to-bed, tousling the hair of the children and asking if "There be any naughty pirates I needs to take care of?"

All five children shook their heads excitedly and shouted a collective "Noooo,"

"Then let's begin the story tellin'!" the Englishman bellowed and moved to collect a chair from the corner of the room. Toris saw the Briton's eyes flicker to the empty bed in the corner, but Arthur didn't question it. The former pirate caught the eye of Toris and gave the Lithuanian a dutiful nod.

Nurse Eveline started manoeuvring the beds of the children into a loose semi-circle and Toris helped with the IV drips. Arthur came back with his chair, plonked it inside the semicircle of children and perched on the seat, one leg crossed daintily over the other (Toris wished he could sit like that without his balls going blue). Eveline busied herself with propping up the pillows of the children so they could sit up comfortably, and as Toris did the same for Edward the pirate cleared his throat.

"Who's ready for a ruddy good adventure?" the Englishman asked in a raspy tone, leaning towards the children eagerly from the edge of his seat.

"What exactly is being our role in all of this?" Toris muttered to Eveline.

"We sit back and enjoy the show." she grinned.

\--------------------

Toris never would have guessed that Arthur Kirkland possessed such showmanship. The Brit was acting out passages from Robert Louis Stevenson's 'Treasure Island' (Toris had a sneaking suspicion this was Arthur's favourite book), jumping out of chair at random intervals to jump around the room, drawing his cutlass and waving it at imaginary foes. He voiced every character differently, from low, grizzly tones to powerful, bellowing ones. The Englishman's pale face was ignited with energy and enthusiasm, emerald eyes sparkling with passion and youth. The Briton never wavered or tired, performing for sixty minutes without a break, drawing on some unknown reserves of energy. Toris wondered if Arthur had ever played the West End.

"'…I'll have no favourites on my ship!'" The Briton declared, pulling the chair to him in one swift motion and straddling it, gripping the back with his jewel-encrusted fingers. Arthur drew in a deep breath to continue with the story just as Nurse Eveline interjected.

"Ok children, I think that's enough excitement for one morning," the five bedridden children objected with groans and pleading of "just one more chapter!" The pirate himself gave Eveline an imploring gaze from his one (visible) green eye. Toris watched the Nurse mouth back 'Sorry, some of them have treatment today'. The Englishman nodded, snapping the book shut. The discontent in Arthur's face was visible to Toris.

"It looks like that be the end of our little session, m'lovelies!" The Briton announced, mustering as much zeal as he could. Ah, but he wasn't finished there. "But there be one last surprise Cap'n Kirkland has for ya…" the pirate brought his hand to his own ear, and as he drew it back down again a shiny gold coin was pinched between his thumb and forefinger. The children gasped, snapping there little hands up to their own ears. All five children now held a burnished 18th century coin in their palms, each one individually stamped with George the first's profile. 'These are authentic coins… Arthur must still be having a stash of pirate booty to have them to spare.' the Lithuanian speculated. 'But when did he put them behind the children's ears…? He must really be a sorcerer...'. Toris' expression matched the children's as he stared in wonder at the ever-mysterious Arthur Kirkland. As the five kids fiddled in awe with their coins, the Englishman took his chair back to the corner of the room then made his way towards the nurse and the doctor.

"Thank you, Mr Kirkland. As usual you've really made a difference." Nurse Eveline said with a smile, gazing around at the happy patients.

"It's just a party trick." Arthur replied, flicking his own coin into the nurse's hand. "I should be thanking you for the amazing work you do," he bowed, starting a blush in Eveline's cheeks. 'Since when was he so suave?' Toris ruminated, 'That pirate getup must be giving him a lot of the confidence'.

"Captain Kirkland! Maisie drew this for you!" Edward called from his bed, waving around a piece of A4 paper. In the boy's outstretched hand was a crude crayon drawing of the UK; he wore a blue wizard's cloak and pointy hat, with a star-tipped wand in one hand. 'Pofeser Artulas' was scribbled beside the conjurer.

The Englishman smiled at the boy and took the picture in both hands, examining it thoughtfully with a spirited look in his eye. Arthur's face suddenly froze as a realization came to him, his head turning towards the empty bed in the corner of the room.

Arthur tipped the hat from his head as he stared at the empty space. He looked back at Eveline anxiously, jade eyes wide and glistening.

"I'm sorry, Mr Kirkland, but Maisie…"

Toris could have sworn he saw a flash of murder in Arthur's eyes, but the Briton replaced it so quickly with an intense, hollow stare that he wasn't sure – Arthur was the master of the 'stiff upper lip' routine after all.

"I understand," he whispered sadly, "I didn't want to ask before in case it jeopardised the show…" Arthur's eyes drifted back to Edward, who was cheerfully humming the Pirates of the Caribbean theme as he waved an imaginary sword in the air. Toris saw the Englishman's body stiffen and straighten as Arthur cleared his throat harshly.

"I'll be leaving now." he turned to the children and pushed the hat back onto his head, "Captain Kirkland's gotta go steal some gold for you pretties!" and with that he backed out of the door, giving a final bow before he slipped out. The Lithuanian could have sworn he heard a muffled cry from beyond the door and couldn't just leave the Brit to suffer alone. He gave one last glance back at Eveline, who nodded in approval, and he made for the door.

Toris scanned left and right for Arthur but didn't see any sign of him until he heard a small crash from around the corner. He followed the sound and came into view of the pirate's back. Toris approached cautiously as he watched the Brit stumble around the width the corridor, hand grasping a flask of gin. 'Well, we all have our coping mechanisms…' the Lithuanian thought as he approached the Brit slowly. Toris became aware of the rapid up-and-down motion of Arthur's shoulders.

'Is he…having a panic attack?' Toris concluded with alarm as he listened to Arthur's harsh, disjointed breathing. The Brit was now ripping the exquisite garments away from his body, casting them ferociously on the corridor's floor. He still hadn't noticed Toris following him, and the Lithuanian retrieved the authentic pirate clothing from the ground, one piece at a time. 'He'll be thanking me for this later' Toris hoped, gathering Arthur's red coat and tricorne in his hands. He was still wary of confronting the Brit, who appeared to be ready to slash out the throat of the next person he saw. However, Toris couldn't watch Arthur clatter through the corridor blinded by grief any longer. The Briton was panting heavily, interchanging between sadness and pure rage, sniffing then snarling. Toris gathered his courage and called out to him.

"Mr Kirkland, are you ok?" this was a stupid question and the Lithuanian knew it, but he didn't know how else to approach the subject.

Arthur's body turned rigid and he went silent. Still facing away from Toris, he brought the flask to his lips and gulped down its contents horribly fast. The Brit then spun to face the Lithuanian.

"No, I'm fucking not ok," the former pirate snarled. His face was slick with tears, but his expression was contorted into that of a wild animal. Realising his brutishness towards the innocent 'doctor', the Brits expression turned apologetic as his bushy eyebrows sagged. "I do apologise for my language sir, I was just…"

"There is is no need to be apologising," Toris comforted with a caring smile. "I understand."

Arthur stood in the corridor dumbly, unable to think of anything to say. All of the anger had washed from his face at the Baltic's kind words. The Britons rigid shoulders now wilted and his head slumped a little. The Lithuanian could see the physical torment in his eyes as he still tried desperately to keep his emotions hidden from the doctor.

"Come, we will take a walk." Toris stepped forward and put both hands on Arthur's shoulders, steering him towards the stairs.

\--------------------

"I daresay, you sound quite familiar young lad..." Arthur wondered as he sipped his tea. They sat opposite one another in the hospital canteen; Arthur trying his best to sit with his usual perfect posture. However, Toris could see the slight drooping of his shoulders and curl of his spine, as if he had a physical weight on his head. The vintage garments Toris had collected earlier were now folded on the chair beside the Brit. The liquor he had glugged down earlier had started to take effect now; the Englishman's emerald eyes were hazy and his words were slowed. Toris hoped that it had also loosened his tongue.

"Where are you from?" Arthur continued when the 'doctor' didn't respond. "Ukraine? The Baltic States?" The Lithuanian tensed when the Englishman mentioned his homelands. He hoped that the Brit didn't possess some secret Sherlock Holmes powers along with his magician skills, and he sensed that Arthur would be able to tell if he was lying, even in his intoxicated state. Toris decided to stay quite.

"Not the talkative type, eh? No worries old chap." Arthur concluded, taking one last swig of his tea and then laying his head down between his arms on the table top. "He's going to kill me…" Toris heard him grumble to himself.

"What was that?" the Lithuanian suddenly responded. "Who is going to kill you, Mr Kirkland?" He urged, shaking the Brit's shoulders lightly. It was too late though; Arthur was asleep.

\--------------------

In the end, Toris had to return to Nurse Eveline and inform her about the depressed pirate that was now slumbering in the hospital canteen. She assured the Lithuanian that they would get someone to take him home, so Toris reluctantly left the hospital. He was frustrated about his own inability to get the answers he needed from Arthur and that he failed in cheering up the old pirate. The Baltic nation was now marching through the car park, casting his stethoscope from his neck and onto the pavement with a clatter. The wig went the same way. He wrenched his mobile phone from his pocket and begged Feliks to come pick him up. Normally Toris would avidly avoid getting a lift from the Pole - he drives a pastel pink Nissan Micra C+C - but the Lithuanian just needed to get away as soon as possible. The cutesy car pulled up ten minutes later and Toris jogged across the car park to meet it, just as Feliks was stepping out of the driver's door.

"Sooo, how did it g-" the Pole was stifled when Toris wrapped his arms tightly around his best friend and had buried his face into his shoulder. The little Lithuanian was crying softly into his blonde hair.

"Oh Leit…" Feliks responded, gently stroking Toris' own brown hair to comfort him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Šūdas – 'shit' in Lithuanian
> 
> Wow, I really didn't mean for this chapter to be so sad. I'm no expert on the treatments of terminal illness, and I didn't want to cause offence/upset anyone so I kept it as undetailed as possible. I just thought this is something Arthur would be able to do, being the emotionally fortified British gentleman that he is. #HugsForIggy


End file.
